The Bakery
by AspiringCatLady
Summary: Mycroft and Greg want to start a bakery. Mystrade. (For Summer Mystrade Gift Exchange on tumblr)


This is my 'Summer Mystrade Gift Exchange' gift for shockingblankets on tumblr. (I hope you like it)

* * *

Mycroft tossed a pancake out of his pan, sending it flipping in the air. As it started to fall, the man caught it on a glass plate. He sat it on the kitchen table and watched as his husband stumbled sleepily into the room. His graying hair stuck up in just about every direction and his cheeks were imprinted with what were probably the creases on his pillow.

"I thought I smelled something good," Greg grinned and sat down at the table. He pulled the pancake plate closer to his body and drowned them in syrup and butter. The man had a taste for soggy pancakes, so he poured himself a cup of tea to allow the food to soak.

"Good morning," Mycroft greeted. He flipped another pancake in the air and onto another plate. As Lestrade walked by, the taller man gave him a peck on his cheek. Greg returned it and then plopped down in his chair.

"As amazing as ever," he said after shoving a bite of pancakes into his mouth.

"Thank you, Gregory," the auburn haired man grinned back. He sat down with his own plate of pancakes. As he ate, he chewed uneasily. The other man was reading the newspaper and didn't notice. Mycroft thought out several different conversations he could start. He had something he wanted to discuss, but was unsure how to approach the subject.

"Is something wrong?" Greg asked. He caught Mycroft's uneasy eyes looking at him, and, at his husband's expression, lowered the newspaper to give the man his full attention.

"No, I just have something I wanted to speak to you about," Mycroft shrugged. His eyes darted around nervously, "but it can wait until later."

"My," the Detective Inspector said. He covered Mycroft's hand with his own, attracting his attention. "What is it?"

Mycroft took a deep breath. "I'll just say it… Greg, I want to open a bakery," he said. He watched Lestrade carefully, looking for emotion.

"A bakery?" he said thoughtfully. He chewed slowly on a pancake. Greg then smiled and nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

"It will be rather expensive," Mycroft said hesitantly. He didn't want to get his hopes up too soon. "And I would want you to help out, too. Would that be okay?"

"Of course," Greg assured. He squeezed Mycroft's hand encouragingly. "I'll take some time off of work for a while, for the income, and if business is good, I'll resign. But if this is what you want to do, I fully support you."

"You wouldn't mind leaving the force?"

"Not at all. I think having a bakery would be fun. And you make such bloody great desserts that I don't see how it wouldn't do well."

Mycroft beamed at his husband. "Thank you," he said proudly.

* * *

"What do you think?" Mycroft asked the silver-haired man. Greg's eyes ran over the run down building behind him. "It needs some fixing up, but I think it will be nice."

"Yeah," Greg nodded. "I can see it. It will be great!"

"I was thinking that the inside should be painted yellow," Mycroft said with a dreamy haze in his eyes. When his husband didn't respond, the man turned to look at his smirk. "It's stupid, isn't it?" he sighed with unexpected anxiety. He was beginning to regret his decision to buy the old building.

"No, no, of course not," Greg assured. He took the taller man's shoulders in his hand and smiled. He pressed kissed to Mycroft's forehead and lips. "This is going to be great. If you want to paint it yellow, let's paint it yellow. We'll have the best bakery in town because of your cooking skills, not the color of the walls."

"Thank you, Gregory," Mycroft grinned. He placed his arm around Greg and turned back to the building. "I guess we should get working."

Mycroft and Greg spent months fixing up their new bakery. They were able to convince Molly, Anderson, John, and even Sherlock to help them out. Just about everything needed to be replaced, from the floorboards to the kitchen counters. The couple spent thousands of dollars repairing the shop, but both felt like it was worth it.

On the grand opening of 'Shortcake Yard' Mycroft was extremely nervous. "What if something goes awry?" he asked his husband as he mixed a bowl of batter.

"I don't see how it could," Greg replied from behind the cash register. "We'll do fine, My. You don't need to worry about it."

"I'm afraid that no one will show up," the baker said with a hint of vulnerability. He turned to see Greg leaning in the order window with a lopsided smile.

"If no one shows up, we'll still be okay. _You _need to loosen up," he teased. "And by the way, I highly doubt no one will come, considering I put an ad on the front of the newspaper."

"You what?" Mycroft asked, his stirring arm pausing.

"I have connections," Greg shrugged. He received a warm smile from his partner. "I'm going to go open the doors," he said, glancing at his watch.

"Okay," the auburn haired man nodded and pulled a tray of pastries out of the oven. The sound of a bell echoed in the kitchen, signaling someone had entered the bakery. He added a new one in and then strained his ears to listen for voices in the front of the shop. He could vaguely hear Greg and a costumer talking.

"Did you want that as strawberry or blueberry?" Greg's voice asked.

"What do you prefer?" a female replied.

"Blueberry. It's bloody fantastic," he said. Mycroft smiled. He walked over to the order window and looked out to see a large blonde woman. She confirmed friendlily that she wanted two blueberry strudels and paid the sliver haired man.

Lestrade jotted the woman's order on a small notepad and walked over to where Mycroft stood in the order window. "Order up," the man said with a happy glint in his eyes. He handed his husband the yellow slip of paper. "Don't forget to smile when you give her the food," he reminded and left the window.

Mycroft nodded to himself and placed two still-warm pastries on a plate. He took a deep breath and straightened his flour covered apron and pushed open the kitchen swing door.

* * *

Greg tapped the call bell and pinned an order to the 'order line'; Mycroft already had four other orders to fill. The silver headed man returned to his cash register to take the next order.

"Welcome to Shortcake Yard, what can I get for you?" he asked tiredly. It was only noon and they were mildly flooded with customers.

"A scone and black coffee," a short man replied.

"Your total is two pound thirty," Greg said with a smile. The small man didn't return it as he sluggishly dropped the money on the counter. Greg swept it into his hand, counted it, and then added the order to the window. Mycroft looked up with a nervous smile as he arranged plates on a tray.

"Next, please," Greg said, standing behind the register again. He looked up in surprise at who stood there. "Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

The tall detective glanced with annoyance to his blonde blogger. "_I am here to support you,_" Sherlock sighed sarcastically. His flatmate nodded with an affirmative smile.

"Just a blueberry pie, Greg. How's business?" John asked conversationally. He placed his money on the counter for the food and dropped an extra few coins in the plastic tip jar.

"Thanks," Lestrade grinned. "And it's great. We've had so many bloody costumers, I can't believe it," he said. John nodded; Sherlock stared at the wall boredly. "Poor Mycroft's working so hard..."

"Hope he doesn't eat all the–"

"Sherlock," John interrupted quickly. "That's great. Good luck," the doctor said before dragging his friend away from the counter. Lestrade took a deep breath and happily greeted the next costumer.

* * *

"That went really well," Mycroft smiled, heavily sitting in a chair. He looked around the bakery's messy sitting area; there were pastry crumbles under the tables and chairs facing every direction. The eldest Holmes rubbed his forehead tiredly and watched his husband sit across from him.

"I'd say so," Greg agreed. He ran a hand through his silver hair and grinned. "People just couldn't get enough of your food."

Mycroft blushed and shrugged. "You were excellent at taking orders," he replied. "The people seemed to like you."

"Eh, well, I think we're going to need some help, though. For cleaning and delivering orders," the ex-detective suggested.

"Hmm… Maybe I could blackmail my dear brother to help," Mycroft said half jokingly.

Greg laughed moved his chair closer to his husband's. He lifted Mycroft's hand to his lips and kissed it with a smile. "Let's head home. We can clean up tomorrow," he suggested, standing and interlocking their hands.

"Okay," Mycroft nodded. He untied his flour-covered apron and tossed it on a nearby table. He and Greg left their small establishment, arms wrapped around each other.


End file.
